


Last page with your name on it

by Sh_Wat



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Jim and Lee's relationship too, M/M, and christmas presents in ch 3, nygmakins - mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21901168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh_Wat/pseuds/Sh_Wat
Summary: The first few weeks in new Gotham were happy, despite the fact that the next few years after the bombing will be full of exhausting work. They were no longer divided into friends and enemies – the saddest thing was that it was only for a short time.Timeline - after 5x11, events of 5x08-09 didn't happen. Elements from 5x12 plot are present, but i took a lot of liberties with them.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning - everything is very dramatic. Mostly dialogues.   
> Gobblepot really starts in ch. 2.   
> Ch. 1 is from Lee's POV.   
> English is not my first language, sorry for mistakes!

The first few weeks in new Gotham were happy, despite the fact that the next few years after the bombing will be full of exhausting work. They were no longer divided into friends and enemies – the saddest thing was that it was only for a short time.

Lee was happy that the relationship with Barbara was no longer full of acrid poison, but it was a very tired joy, more like relief. Jim was more difficult – but in the end they both agreed that it was pointless to try to build something together. That perky, plucky woman Jim had loved had indeed died, Lee felt - twice. His own transformation was more harmonious – but he, too, was not as stubborn and naive as he once was. Those two people they couldn’t brought back, and as they were now, they should not have come so close. There was something wrong with it, like a badly healed broken bone that would have to be broken again. Lee was afraid she would begin to hate Jim if she stayed with him, with his ability to clean up and tolerate crime at the same time, so reminiscent of the time of the Galavan chase and all it had brought.

She thought Jim would be upset or angry when she told him it’s better be over. But he just had that shut-down expression again (the feeling of someone closing door to a lighted room right in front of you), and he said, looking at her shoulder, " You're right. What we wanted to do was exactly trying to forget the past."

They continued to see each other often, strangely enough, but Lee found it comforting. Maybe it was just the satisfaction of knowing that part of him still belonged to her – she tried not to think about it. She knew herself too well, and she didn't like it much even now. But the facade was gone, and there was nowhere to hide.

Then the inevitable happened – Penguin and Riddler returned to their path. Penguin was arrested after it was revealed that the substance exploded in the docks was purchased by him. The whole hangar was demolished, the dockers were killed. Jim's hands trembled a little as he ordered the city to be searched over and over again, and Lee, who was urging him to sleep at least a few hours in between, was aware of the causes of this panic. Penguin claimed that he had intended to destroy the weapon and had bought it to keep it out of the wrong hands – but it didn't matter whether Jim believed him or not, as he confessed to an illegal deal to acquire an unknown weapon on a particularly large scale.

Ed's plan was far more intricate and impractical, when you think about it. With his knowledge of pharmacology, it was easy for him to compose a drug that messed the minds of all Gotham's writing and broadcasting journalists. All the newspapers were filled with riddles, all the presenters spoke only with them. Ed managed to wreak havoc in the city for a couple of days – the effect of the drug was relatively long – but eventually he was found. Ed refused to explain his actions - Lucius guessed it was an attempt to make sure of his uniqueness, or on the contrary, to find a way to discover the Riddler in other people. As for the choice of media – Ed simply always had a passion for them.

Ed was the problem. Mainly because Lee, in order to rebuild Gotham's health care system, took over the New Arkham project. She remembered the semi-squalid conditions of the establishment in the days when she first came there, and saw that nothing had changed with the years. Lee was going to put an end to it. In an effort to improve the living conditions of the patient inmates in the city's rebuilding environment, Lee was in constant contact with them. Ignoring Ed would be a violation of her professional standards.

The Riddler, the predatory smiling adrenaline junkie in the dapper green suit, the enemy, the criminal, the killer (Kristen's body parts are in the suitcase, she was so secretly glad it was found without her). Awkward funny Ed, a friend, a partner in cleaning up Narrows, the only one who saw both sides of her and loved them. Lee still felt a nagging shame – he was falling apart, and she was so obsessed with power struggle and Sofia Falcone that she paid no attention. Sometimes she was sure that the split was more of a psychological defense mechanism than a real second personality, because the line between the two was sometimes impossible to draw. And the more she talked to him, the harder it got.

Sometimes he was glad to see her - sincerely, raw. Sometimes he looked at her with real sadness. Sometimes she wondered if she was right when she had decided that she should stab first and take his death blow, if she was right that they had no other choice.

But with him it was terribly difficult, because even sincere vivacity and obedience served him only to find a loophole in system and escape.

\- We truly want to help you, - Lee said one evening after a search, when the blueprints for a new building were being carried out of his room. He hid them in cracks in the wall and drew on neatly cut squares from the missing pillowcase.

Ed chuckled darkly.

\- Doc still thinks she can do it. On the other hand, you and Jim always think you know what to do, don't you? Put us on a chain and sometimes come to pat on the back.

**

It was the most innocent photos made by a hidden camera. All they did was holding hands in prison cell.

She wanted to hide the photos until she was clear-headed and ready, but changed her mind. These secrets are always opened so suddenly and inappropriately. Another dark corner, a poisonous stain on the page, which is impossible to pull out. So she sits down at the table and puts the box on the table in front of her, waiting for Jim to come in for dinner tonight.

Jim was very tired, as he always was, and had just come in and taken off his shoes and said “Hello” when he noticed the box. Frowning, he moved quickly closer.

\- It's not explosives, don't worry, - Lee said as calmly as she could, letting him take the box. When he saw the photographs, his face paled sharply, as if he were about to faint. But Lee knew him well, and Jim could stand much stronger blows on his feet.

Lee tried to smile at him. She genuinely didn't want to quarrel or accuse. That was why she hadn't removed the green-ink written card.

\- It came in the mail, - she said quietly. – I'll find out how he did it.

\- What separates friends and unites enemies, and divided into two parts, multiplies infinitely? – Jim read aloud the inscription on the card. He didn't even seem to hear her.

\- Secret, - they said at the same time. Jim shivered slightly as he looked at her.

\- Jim, please sit down and talk to me, - Lee said, taking the box from him. Jim obeyed. He looked so haggard – Lee had expected anger, but she could see no sign of it yet. Only guilt, bitterness, feelings so familiar that she thought they felt them at the same time. But she needed to be stronger. – First of all, it was sent to me, I-I talked to Ed about secrets the other day. He boasted he has a new pen pal who knows all the secrets. And secondly... isn't this a chance to get rid of burden for both of us?

\- "Of burden?" Jim asked. Now his face bore the weight she had expected. - Lee, there's no freedom in that. And Nygma's trick isn't genuine desire to give you a lead, it’s a threat.

She didn't want to feel angry, but it still stung. Perhaps she should have told him to leave now, since he doesn’t want to talk like an adult. But Lee couldn't help but try to get one last word from him, the one she'd come for since that half-forgotten day at the police station when bright-eyed doctor from Arkham had made it all the way to the locker room where he'd slept, trying to get something out of the brooding cop - something that they both never understood.

Jim put the box down, rested his elbows on the table, looked down.

\- I don't know what to say. We seem to walk in a circle of endless mistakes.

He spoke sincerely. And she wanted to touch him, so comfort him – and shake him at the same time, to bring him out of his sad numbness. They are not half dead, they must continue to fight for those who live here, for the future of his daughter, which should be brighter - his child, not theirs - Lee forcefully squeezed her own fingers to crumple and discard these thoughts.

\- It may not be a mistake.

\- What does that mean? - Jim jumped up, looking at her with burning, sparkling eyes, and it's that pure anger, his almost childish desire to say 'no' to a life he doesn't deem fair. – That we should throw ourselves happily into their arms? Penguin put a bounty on my head. Nygma killed you once…

\- I stabbed him first! - Lee exclaimed no less passionate. – And if I understand correctly, you first restored Penguin’s limp. – She took a deep breath, there’s never enough oxygen when she dives there. - We've done worse things to each other, Jim. Remember, they came back to defend Gotham and were willing to die for it. Now Ed is in Arkham and Penguin is in Blackgate, and we want to think that as long as we are separated by walls and at the end of the day we leave, it's OK. But maybe we don't need these walls.

Jim looked at her, breathing hard, as if he had just made a speech. Lee couldn't look him in the eye, turns away.

She only heard a quiet tired answer.

\- I can't tell you to change your mind. I just don't want to run around Gotham on the trail of your robberies and find you in hospitals after gang fights.

\- Just as I don't want to see you exterminate criminals and lie to everyone about it.

Lee got up and walked over to him. Jim made no attempt to back off, as she half expected, and returned the embrace.

\- They're dangerous people, - Lee whispered. - So are we. But that's not the only thing about us. You know, any human just needs something to keep, something to hold on to – to stop falling apart. A work project. People to care about.

She knew it would hurt - even if it was just a theory said out loud, fragile and unforgivably naive for someone like her. Gotham hadn't grind them, after all, and looking at Jim, she felt that longing for the ever-elusive 'other way' - as he probably did. This strange ability to feel similar emotions at the same time, thread still not chopped.

\- This isn't the last send-off, - she added quietly. - We need to fight for this city. Me, you, and Barbara. Lucius, Harvey. And maybe even them.

\- 'Last send-off', - Jim repeated. He smiled, a little pained. – I've been thinking about that. You don't plan to run to Arkham right now or anything?

Lee pulled away from him, chuckling. It didn’t feel like relief yet, but it will be.

\- No. Lucky for us both, I was planning dinner. 


	2. Chapter 2

It felt like a continuation of a dream. A restless, dry nightmare from which Jim was trying to extricate himself. When he awoke and saw the gun pointed at his forehead, he was neither startled nor frightened.

\- Surprise, - Oswald sang softly, and his smile was particularly caustic.

Jim shifted his head slightly on the pillow, and the muzzle of the gun moved with the movement.

\- If you don't mind, try not to move. - Oswald sighed, as if annoyed. – I'll admit I've had more to drink than the conditions allow, and I might accidentally pull the trigger.

A chill crept up his spine, a purely physical reaction to the threat. Jim tried to breathe as quietly as he could.

\- How many escaped? –he asked, squinting at the bedside table. Phone was there and not ringing - turned off?

\- Enough that this bullet could be from every other person trying to get lost in the streets today.

Oswald moved away a little, motioning Jim to sit up in bed with the muzzle of his pistol, and sat down in the chair opposite the bed, crossing his legs. His hand did not tremble, the sight did not change for a second. Jim wondered out of the corner of his mind if Oswald had emptied the gun on the nightstand – and if he should go after it.

He had never believed that Oswald would seriously point a gun at him. He didn't know how it would end now. And maybe, somewhere in the murky depths, he didn't care. His daughter will still be happier without him. She, after all, is still a baby, will not even remember his face.

Oswald watched him, his face unreadable. Finally he said:

\- You know, it's weird. I thought I'd want to at least shoot you in the arm or leg – if not for putting me behind bars, then for trying to use me even after that. You want me to keep an eye on Blackgate for you? And what a paltry price. I know there's not a lot of money in the budget for "working with prisoners," but you only offered me ... emotional incentives... – Jim had been trying to sneak his hand under the covers closer to the bedside table during his tirade, but Oswald had stopped him with a click of the cocked trigger. – Even now, you don't want to talk to me, just send me back to jail.

\- You know as well as I do, - Jim said slowly, his skin prickling like needles at gunpoint, and he could hardly keep still without the prospect of getting out of the line of fire - literally and verbally. - Something's wrong. No one talks about it, only whispers, but someone is plotting. I don't want our city to fall victim to any secret councils again…

\- "Our city," - Oswald smiled. – Did that inspire you to flirt with me in a prison cell?

Perhaps Oswald was right. Perhaps his words about their connection through the blood on the concrete of this city echoed in his attempts to find that connection between them now that it was too late, when he knew for sure that something was wrong. No one needed planned double riot at Arkham and Blackgate. Lee could work with New Arkham, she was just starting the project. But Blackgate… Jim was sure Oswald would refuse to see him in person, but Oswald agreed. "I shouldn't be talking to you at all, Jim," Oswald said that cold morning, sickly pale and smiling cruelly. – I will not give you a direct answer until I see signs of remorse on your part." He didn't look surprised, though, when Jim repeated the same demands when they met again. "You do not fulfill the conditions, however, between us it is already a tradition," Oswald said, slightly tilting his head to one side. "Have you heard that trying to achieve a different result by repeating the same actions is a sign of insanity?". Again and again Oswald refused to speak to the point, hoped to wear Jim out, and he had a chance to succeed. "It seems to me that you really come here only for the pleasure of watching my failure." - he said one day, not so much mean, mostly tired. And Jim shuddered at how much he was hurt by the words. No, he did not enjoy watching Oswald grow gloomy and languishing in his cell, but he could not review the case of a man whose involvement with the explosives in a warehouse was indicated by so much evidence. It was an accident – but the fact that Oswald possessed such quantities of experimental weapon in the city where Barbara Lee was now growing up left Jim no choice. "I take absolutely no pleasure in this," Jim said, and when Oswald looked at him with a crushing volume of mockery and hurt disbelief in his eyes, Jim almost instinctively reached for him. The small movements he had subconsciously noticed, Oswald’s attempts to change the position of his stiff hands in the conditions where he was handcuffed to the table, his sadness - all together directed Jim's hands. As he took Oswald's hands in his, shock shot through them both. Oswald said nothing to him, made no attempt to recoil. Just let him warm and rub his hands. They weren't as cold as one would expect. Oswald's hands were never cold. The wrists were not hurt by handcuffs, and it was a great relief. "It would be easier if you... ordered to remove these -" Oswald breathed out and turned away abruptly. "Please let go".

Oswald, in the present, suddenly took the gun away from Jim and shrugged his shoulders almost indifferently.

\- No, I can't. Even when I remember everything in detail, it does not work. Do you know what it's like, Jim? - He stood up just as Jim did, and his gaze were so intense, so commanding, that Jim forgot for a moment that he was going to pick up the phone and call the station. – When you make me feel that? Long ago, in the beginning, it was like a tingling sensation from the touch of warm water. Now it's like I've been doused with it from a boiling kettle.

He was close to Jim in a matter of moments, and Jim barely felt his fingers tighten in his hair.

\- Every time there's a burn, - Oswald whispered, and Jim winced at three things at once – the way his hair was grabbed into a fist, the way the loaded pistol rested on his thigh – and the way Oswald bit into his lips.

It wasn't a kiss, strictly speaking – Oswald had his lower lip between his teeth and tugged it so sharply that he cut it with his teeth, and Jim let out a ragged breath, tasting the stinging salty blood in his mouth, mixed with the heavy tart whisky on Oswald's tongue. The burning sensation in the back of his neck and the adrenaline jolt of the weapon in the hands of a man who was not himself.

Oswald let him go. His good eye was full of tears, but he was smiling broadly – and there was blood on his lip, a drop of Jim's blood.

\- I thought I wanted to taste your blood, - he whispered, almost bewildered. – But I feel bad now.

Jim felt a little dizzy, and held out his hand to Oswald, not sure what he wanted to tell him, or why he wanted to detain him. It had little to do with returning to Blackgate.

Oswald wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his pistol hand, and when he looked at Jim again, his gaze almost cleared.

\- It was pathetic, wasn't it? But if I was sober, I wouldn't be able to pay you a visit at all.

Jim also recovered a little and opened the phone to start the call.

\- How many have escaped? – business truly must come first to keep his head clear.

\- Twenty eight. – Oswald answered easily. He covered him mouth with hand, then added. - I'll show you where twenty-seven of them might have gone, but give me two minutes ' head start and I can clear my reputation later. – He tried to smile, but it didn’t come off fully, as if he knew its futile. - Won't I do you and your conspiracy investigations more good on the outside?

Jim closed his eyes. To hell with them both if it sounded like a formality, he was already dialing station.

\- It was an experimental explosive, Oswald. In a city that is just beginning to recover.

\- And I gave a good sum to keep it out of the hands of the unknown, who offered very little less. It really was an accident, Jim. - Oswald tilted his head back, then looked past Jim, somewhere past this night, maybe. - Let’s say you’re right, and I am just a tyrannical, carnivorous ex-lackey. But imagine - I still wouldn't do that to the city you're always taking away from me.

Oswald looked from the burning phone screen in Jim’s hand to Jim’s face and didn't even try to raise his gun.

He looked at Jim with borderline-tender despair.

\- No. How could I hope to be able to harm you?

Jim didn't want to hear it, double-meaning self-deprecation that sounds like a reproach. Another fault on his conscience, this strange bond-a-weakness that always plays in favor of only one of them.

Maybe it shouldn't be. He lifts the phone to his ear.

\- This Is Jim Gordon. Harvey, we're in a lot of trouble. I have just been informed anonymously that there has been a mass escape from Blackgate.

And Oswald smiled fully.


	3. Chapter 3

It's both bad and good that Oswald was able to clean up his reputation in public. Bad – because their confrontation would begin anew and continue until Oswald wanted to quit and live happily in his retirement. Good – because Oswald wasn't thrilled with endless plans to freeze the entire city, turn it into a poisonous jungle or tune into one brainwave - and was willing to help the police in the fight against those who’s coming up with them. Jim forced himself to hold his temper, wait for Oswald to offer help himself - and Oswald silently and gracefully bypassed obstacles, passing him messages through other police officers or the mayor. They met at the field of operations, exchanging banter, and said goodbye under the eyes of their men. They had silently agreed not to be alone again – and Jim didn't know if that would ever change.

He had no time to dwell on it. The web of secret whispers became more elaborate day after day, but they never could come close to the core, immediate threats always appeared first. Paperwork often delayed work hours, and the rest of the time he has a lot of people with whom he is happy to spend time . His daughter in the evenings, when Barbara visited, so fragile and rapidly growing, so beloved that Jim is acutely and almost physically aware of every change in her health and mood. Harvey, Alfred, Lucius, Barbara in her newfound establishments, Lee in the hospital center. Silent musings on the roof of police headquarters next to a covered signal, next to Selina, where she (angrily) and he (sadly) wondered when Bruce Wayne will return.

It happened one night when Jim was at home alone and preparing to go to bed. He remembered leaving his room empty when he went to shower, but then he came back, getting dressed for the night, Oswald were sitting in the chair across from the bed - right in the streetlight. He politely averted his eyes.

\- I'm sorry for being unannounced, but it wouldn't have been a surprise otherwise.

Jim's first feeling was alert. If Oswald had decided to meet him in person, then something terrible and urgent had happened. But Oswald did not look alarmed; he was calm, if only a little sad. Jim felt confused and a little guilty – as if Oswald mistook him for someone else. In this last thought there was ringing a bell - maybe Oswald is simply under influence? This thought was disturbing.

\- What kind of surprise? - Jim asked tensely, coming closer. He sat down opposite Oswald on the bed, and it may be the height of stupidity, but he didn’t feel threatened.

Oswald's good eye followed Jim without strain. He chuckled.

\- Not the same as the other time, - and with that he handed Jim a box. Big, nice, festive one, but without a card and not closed. Jim raised a suspicious eyebrow, and with a sigh Oswald himself took a book out of the box – a large black book with a brightly painted gold letters on the front -and read from it in a deliberately solemn tone:

_\- "There was an old potter in Holland who had a son, Kai. Having made many bowls and pots, Kai's father took them to the neighboring town to sell. He left early in the morning and returned late at night._

_When he was going away, he always told Kai:_

_"Be good, son, and don't go to the dams, where the ruins of the old house are»._

Jim snatched the volume out of his hand, but Oswald was not joking, they were really the words of a fairy tale. The book was heavy in his hands, but as he flipped through it, Jim was convinced that it was just a collection of fairy tales. Judging by the release date of the book, almost seventy-years old collection of fairy tales.

\- Are you kidding? - he asked, looking up at Oswald. Oswald shook his head.

\- No, that's my surprise…

\- Antique book as a lead - ?

\- ...for your daughter. - Oswald wrinkled his nose slightly in half-comical, half-affected condemnation. Jim shook his head.

\- It doesn't make any sense.

\- I just wanted to save you the trouble of looking for gift yourself, - Oswald said in a smaller voice than Jim had expected, folding his hands in a slightly helpless gesture in his lap.

\- That doesn't make sense at all, - A vague feeling of guilt only intensified. - I-I have to say no.

Oswald made no reply, but jerked his hands away as Jim tried to return the book, and rose abruptly.

\- To tell you the truth, I knew you'd say no. That's why I decided to hand it over to you personally, to spare us both the silent humiliation of trying to get rid of the mailed book.

\- Why did you do all this? - Jim looked at him helplessly. Whatever game Oswald was playing, they had probably both lost the thread.

Oswald shrugged, looking around the dark room, avoiding Jim's eyes.

– I wanted to surprise you again? See you in the dark, alone? - he lowered his head and added with a dry laugh. - Wanted to see if you missed me, too?

Jim put the book back in the box, then slid the lid and put it all away on the nightstand.

No, not going there.

\- Can I get you anything before you go? - Jim offered quickly and quietly, and it was actually quite a cowardly attempt at escape, but Oswald nodded.

\- Yes, a glass of water, please.

He listened intently as he retreated into the kitchen and poured water into a glass, but he didn’t hear footsteps, the sound of a door closing. He heard only his own footsteps, his own breathing, his very own fast-beating heart.

Oswald was standing at the window when Jim returned, leaning his shoulder against the wall, looking out at the quivering multicolored lights of the rebuilding city, which is slowly being decorated for Christmas. With a polite nod, he took a glass of water from Jim's hand and has taken a couple of sips. His hand trembled a little, almost imperceptibly.

\- I'm sorry, - said Jim, illogically hoping that this time they will be able to find the words that will release them from the suffocating stalemate. They shouldn’t hold each other on a tight string. – I think even if we both erased our memories, we'd still be walking around each other in circles. But if I had the opportunity to turn back the clock, I would have done a lot differently.

\- Jim, - Oswald says in a quiet, warning voice. – You don't have to tell me now that you wish you'd shot me on the pier.

\- No, I don't mean that, - Jim suddenly realized this almost feverish vertigo that must make Oswald laugh this bitterly, half-consciously. – I always try to tell people that, my only excuse. My father would have been ashamed, for he was a brilliant orator in court. But I do regret a lot of things, and one of them is that I didn't accept that invitation to the opening of your first club.

\- How come? You were a honest cop, - Oswald snorted. Did he really think so even back then?

\- If I were really honest, I wouldn't push you away after you did what I asked. And many things would be very different now. – Jim wasn’t sure about that. But considering everything that happened after, there really never was a point in saving his imaginary high ground.

Oswald shrugged, setting his glass down on the windowsill.

\- Things could be worse now.

\- No, really, I couldn't have done any worse. – Jim involuntarily laughed.

\- That's very stupid! - Oswald exclaims with sudden vehemence. He turned to Jim, indignant. – Well, getting to the top five on your list of regrets doesn't make my life any better. You know what I'd change, Jim? I would have sent you away the day you came to ask for help with your dirty co-workers. I would send you away every time, because it doesn't change anything, you are careless of those who turn themselves inside out for you, and those who do what they do, not sparing you another glance. 

Oswald caught him by the arm and pushed him back against the wall, quickly and deftly, and Jim had no time to resist.

\- Albeit no, that would be a lie. I liked to do you favors, I felt so strong and wise. To know that the unyielding detective Gordon needed my help was such a high, such a flattery. You could have got everything out of me if you'd been smarter. - Oswald looked him in the eye, burning, and pushed himself back a step. – But you've never been.

This meeting unfathomably came out even sharper than the previous one.

\- You won't give me something that I want, – Jim would as well be honest. They knew it always – fun and games stops near one certain edge. Just pretended a couple of times it’s not true.

\- What would it be? - Oswald spread his hands affectedly. He played the role as he always did, dressing his feelings in the aura of stage to make them easier to bear. Jim was too simple for that. - Two easy going weeks to rest? Or on the contrary, constant work to feel useful? Time alone? Time with family? You still want everything at the same time, reward and punishment.

\- No,- Jim said earnestly. Somehow it hurt, that Oswald now saw nothing but that rift in him. He reached out, but Oswald caught his wrists, didn’t let to hold his shoulders, and at the same time stepped closer.

\- What do _you_ want from me? - Jim asked, not trying to free his hands. Oswald held tight, but careful, they stood close, chest to chest, breathing hard.

\- Ask me, - Oswald whispered, with sadness, with pain, with rage. - Ask me for what no one else can give you.

Here it was, the request in which Jim will be refused. He would have said the first thing, any random thought, to defuse the suffocating electricity. But the first thought was the truest- the only truth he had ever carried.

\- Never move on from me, - he said, and then realized he closed his eyes.

He thought Oswald would laugh, push him away, ask him ironically to clarify. But Oswald put his arms around Jim's neck, and pressed his forehead against Jim’s temple. So they stood for a long time, motionless outwardly, inwardly crumbling and rearranging.

\- We're not going to make it work, you know that? - Oswald whispered loudly in his ear, and hot breath ghosted down his cheek.

\- But we won't stop trying, - Jim answered, or thought he did, catching this quick, dry lips in a full kiss.


End file.
